


each thing's a thief

by QuickYoke



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Mentions of homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:08:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27752086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickYoke/pseuds/QuickYoke
Summary: The Royal Library of Cairhien is the last place an Aiel should be caught stealing.
Relationships: Seonid Traighan/Edarra
Comments: 37
Kudos: 41





	each thing's a thief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BurgerBurgerBurger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurgerBurgerBurger/gifts).



> _“The most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is to let him show himself what he is and steal out of your company.”_
> 
> _-Dogberry, Much Ado About Nothing, Shakespeare_

* * *

* * *

The mission was simple. Sneak into Cairhien, find what the White Tower wanted at the Royal Library, and get out. There shouldn't have been any problem, especially not for one such as Edarra, who prided herself on her abilities. She may not have been a Maiden of the Spear, but she could dance with blades better than any Wetlander by far. Even had that not been the case, she could hardly refuse the orders. They had come direct from Sorilea, and when Sorilea said 'jump' others did not ask questions unless they were 'how high?'

Now, Edarra walked amongst rows and rows of books, utterly lost. She had heard tales of the Royal Library of Cairhien, but never in her wildest dreams had she imagined it to be like this. A vast wilderness of scrolls and tomes, written in every language imaginable, and many beyond her ken. Never in her life had she beheld such an astonishing collection of written knowledge. The Aiel were a wandering people; they had no structures dedicated to holding books. They had few dedicated structures at all, if any. When Edarra had been told to seek out the Royal Library, she had thought the trip would be fast. Easy. Flip through a few pages here. Unfurl a few scrolls there. She certainly hadn't expected - this.

Craning her neck and standing up on her toes, Edarra squinted to read a title emblazoned in faded gold across the spines of leather-bound books six rows above her head. The shelves reached almost to the high arched ceilings, illuminated by window slits made of varied coloured glass so that light slanted across the vaults like bolts of cloth. She swore under her breath. Sinking back down to her heels, Edarra glanced around. She tugged the cloak more tightly around her shoulders, so that her hood would not fall back and reveal her sun-touched skin and her long hair like pale fire. Anyone who examined her too closely might not immediately know her for what she was, but the moment she opened her mouth to speak she knew her accent would unmistakably mark her. And here in Cairhien, an Aiel fresh from the The Three-fold Land could only look forward to the hospitality of a barred cell and an unpleasant interrogation. She had fear of neither pain nor death, but certainly she had fear of failure. Sorilea would bring her back from the grave and skin her alive. Edarra was sure of it.

After a brief scout, she came across a ladder that was affixed to a rail along the wall. She slid it into position and began to climb its rungs. By some fortune the capital of Cairhien was unusually populated. People from all over the nation were gathered in the great city for some party or another, she knew not what. Nor did she particularly care. Only that people who were congregating for a celebration were far too busy hanging bunting and rolling out wine barrels. They cared not to haunt the seemingly endless halls of the Royal Library. In fact, as she had snuck towards the palace, Edarra had been accosted by strangers who had been keen on pushing a tankard of ale into her hand, instead of clapping her wrists in irons -- as she had initially thought.

She had declined the drink and slipped away, much to the chagrin of the revelers, who called out after their ‘fair-eyed stranger’ with the gusto of those already thrice deep in their cups.

“My, my. An Aiel in Cairhien? And a wilding no less? What is the world coming to?”

Upon hearing the voice, Edarra nearly slipped and fell from the ladder. Gripping the polished wooden bars between her hands, she looked down. There just below her, a woman was peering up at her. A Cairhienin woman like many Cairhienin women. Small and pale with dark hair and darker eyes. She was dressed in green silks, a shawl drawn around her shoulders as though for warmth. Her dress held none of the slashes of colour that many others did. Edarra felt a thrill of surprise and something deeper -- fear, perhaps? -- that someone had so easily snuck up on her. Normally, she had the ears of a cat, but somehow this stranger had managed to appear beneath her as though it were the easiest feat in the world.

To add insult to injury, the woman was not alone. From her vantage point, Edarra could see an armed man standing nearby, and another guarding the only entry and exit onto this floor. Both of them bore themselves with the ease of people whose swords were as natural to them as breathing. Their cloaks seemed to ripple even when they stood still, shifting and taking on the colour of whatever background was closest.

The woman cocked her head, and a lock of dark hair curled at her collarbone. "Why don't you come down? Otherwise, I will get a crick in my neck."

For a moment, Edarra entertained the brief irrational thought of climbing higher instead. Clambering atop the towering bookshelf, and kicking her way through one of the windows. She could cushion her fall with a bit of Channeling, she was sure. But she recalled just how many steps she had climbed to get to this level of the Library tower to begin with, and ultimately decided that a few broken legs was a riskier proposition than whatever awaited her at the bottom of the ladder.

Gritting her teeth, Edarra breathed in deeply to steady herself. Then, she began to climb down. When she reached the ground once more, she shrugged against the unfamiliar cut of the cloak around her shoulders. Two days ago, she had bartered for some commoner's clothes that would let her roam the city without being stopped on sight. They had been sewn for a woman a few fingers shorter than her however, and her lanky frame balked against the stretch of grey and brown broadcloth.

The woman's gaze raked over her, and she grimaced slightly upon discovering just how tall Edarra was even standing on the same level ground. "It seems I'm to have a crick in my neck regardless. A pity."

"Who are you?" Edarra asked. "What are you doing here?"

The woman arched a cool eyebrow at her. "I could ask you the same, and I'd be far more entitled to answers. But for the sake of geniality, you may call me Seonid."

Most Wetlanders, Edarra knew, had more than one name. Indeed, they seemed to collect them like gemstones. She doubted the name this woman offered her was authentic, but it would have to do.

The woman -- Seonid -- was giving her an expectant look.

"Edarra," she answered, then cast a wary glance over at the guardsman standing nearby.

Seonid followed her gaze. "Oh, don't worry about them. They will do nothing unless ordered. Or unless my life is at risk."

"I am not worried about them."

"No?"

"No," Edarra said. "I am thinking of how best to kill them."

If that frank admission startled Seonid at all, she did not show it. Indeed, she looked like a statue carved from cold stone, but her eyes were ember-sharp. Without looking at him, she made a small gesture to the man, who scowled but immediately strode off to join his matching twin by the exit. 

Once he had gone, Seonid said, "Now, what brings an Aiel to the Royal Library of Cairhien?"

Rather than answer, Edarred crossed her arms and glowered.

Seonid continued, her tone cool and even, "I do not delight in guessing games, but it seems I have little choice in the matter. Perhaps you wanted to catch up on your reading? Perhaps you are a mere thief? Or perhaps you had second thoughts on leaving the Royal Library unscatched in the last War?"

"Knowledge is sacred," Edarra said. "And unlike your people, we do not forsake the ways of sacred things."

"I think the _Da'shain_ would beg to differ, but who am I to split hairs with an Aiel wilding?" Seonid said dryly.

At that, Edarra felt a spark of irritation worming its way up her spine. She channeled saidar, producing a flame in her hand which she held out near one of the rows of books. "I could burn it now, but it would serve me no purpose. Just as it served my people no purpose, then."

"Yet now it seems to be serving you a very specific purpose, indeed," Seonid replied. Her dark eyes seemed suddenly even darker. They held the flame's reflection like distant stars. "Is it your first time here? Looking for something, are you?"

"That's none of your business."

"Of course, not. Though, one could argue that it is my duty to report your infiltration to the nearest guard captain."

"Do you make such an argument?"

"That depends -" Seonid took a step closer, her footfalls feather-light, and the dwindling space between them felt like a challenge. "- on what you're looking for."

Edarra frowned. There was a strange tug at the space behind her sternum. Like a string being pulled taught. She studied Seonid more closely, the ageless quality of her face, the green-fringed shawl around her shoulders, and finally she realised.

"You're one of them. An Aes Sedai," Edarra said. She let the flame extinguish, but she did not release _saidar._ She did not channel it into existence, but the mere act of holding it was a comfort, like cupping a flickering candle in her palm to shelter from a breeze. "You come from the White Tower?"

"Once, yes. But not anymore." Seonid's expression turned canny. It was such a small shift of her features, Edarra nearly missed it. "I see. It's something of the Tower that you're after."

Edarra clenched her jaw and glanced away. Interrogators with hooks and knives, she could deal with -- spit blood and laugh in their faces, even -- but a lone Cairhienin woman could see right through her. 

"Why do you care?" Edarra asked. "Call for your guards, or leave me. I want no part of your games."

"So blunt. A woman after my own heart," Seonid drawled. "But I'm afraid you're well beyond that, now. The Game has you fast in its snare, and you don't even see it."

"Then I will cut my way out, once I have what I came for."

"While I have little doubt regarding your capability for bloodshed, that is an awful lot of cutting required. Alternatively -" Seonid gestured to herself with one hand. "- you let me help you, and in exchange you entertain my curiosity."

Rather than step away, Edarra leaned forward. "I don't need your help."

"I can see that. Which is why you've been perusing the botanical section so diligently." Seonid pointed to the bookshelf that Edarra had just been searching through earlier. "Perhaps the Aiel have taken a sudden interest in the merits of agriculture, though somehow I think that isn't the case."

With a startled look over her shoulder, Edarra saw that she was, in fact, correct. She had been too caught up in the sheer volume of titles, that she had not realised exactly where her search had taken her. Only that she knew the agents of the White Tower she tracked had been on this floor not a fortnight hence, and whatever she sought rested here.

Seonid was watching her with an utterly unreadable expression, though her dark eyes seemed to gleam with a malicious sort of amusement. "I cannot tell if you are a genius or a fool for choosing now of all times to sneak into the capital." When Edarra merely blinked in confusion, both of Seonid's eyebrows lifted in surprise, and she said, "Oh, you don't even know. Wonderful. I'm glad to see it was the latter."

Straightening, Edarra tried her best to loom. "It is a local celebration, yes? What do I care of this? It makes my task easier that all of you are too drunk to notice I exist."

Seonid seemed not at all impressed by Edarra's height nor her attempts at intimidation. "The former, then," she mused almost to herself. "Though your task is about to get far more difficult. They will lock all the doors and windows to this place in precisely -" Seonid squinted over Edarra's shoulder to gauge the position of the sun in the sky through the windows. "- Well. Now, to be frank. I hope you can Travel. Or survive a six story jump from the lowest floor with windows."

Edarra swore under her breath. It was foolish to turn her back on a stranger -- especially one so dangerous -- but still she whirled around, hands planted on her hips, eyes furiously roving the stacks and stacks of unending books that extended to either side of her.

Behind her, Seonid spoke, "But since you don't need my help, I'd best see to my own business. Good day, Mistress Edarra."

Whipping around once more to find Seonid already gliding away, Edarra lunged forward. "Wait!" she said, grabbing Seonid's elbow to stop her from leaving.

Seonid went very still. Her skin beneath the layer of green silk was warm, but her eyes were chips of black ice. The glow of saidar surrounded her, and Edarra tensed. She readied herself for the impending inferno, but started in surprise when Seonid merely wove a simple strand of air to thwack Edarra's fingers with, as though smacking the knuckles of a naughty child.

Edarra shook out her hand. Seonid's use of the Source had been too subtle and too quick to gauge her true strength. Reluctantly, Edarra released saidar as well, holding her hands, palm up, in a gesture of peace. "You know something. Tell me, and I will -" she scrunched up her nose and repeated the words, "- entertain your curiosity."

Seonid tilted her head to one side, but still she had not turned round, so that she studied Edarra askance. After what felt like an age, she said, "They were looking for something about _'seals.'_ That's all I know."

"Seals?" Edarra repeated. "What kind of seals? A stamp?"

Seonid's shrug seemed exasperated. "I just told you: I don't know."

"You are an Aes Sedai. Surely you must know them."

"My dear, there is a Schism in the Tower. Half of them want me dead or worse."

"You betray your own people?"

Seonid's brow darkened. "They are not my people."

"I see no difference."

"Just as one sees no difference between you and the Shai'do?" Seonid countered.

Edarra made a noise of disgust in the back of her throat.

"Just as I thought." Seonid gave a dismissive little sniff. Then, her shoulders straightened and she stood ramrod straight. Her head jerked around and she looked in the direction of the exit.

"What is it?" Edarra asked.

"Someone is coming," Seonid said. Swiftly, she rounded on Edarra, stepping close and lowering her voice. "Your time here is up, but this is not the end. Do as I say and -- for the love of the Light -- try to speak as little as possible. I will handle this."

"I will not leave Cairhien empty-handed," Edarra hissed. She could hear the stamp of booted feet climbing the winding stone staircase. Clatter of leather and steel.

"Nor will you."

Edarra reached out, but stopped herself from touching Seonid's arm, her fingers hovering just over silk. "Why are you helping me? No more games. Tell me."

Standing this close, she could see the small faint flecks scattered across Seonid's pale cheeks and the bridge of her nose, could see the narrow scar at her chin. "An enemy of my enemy is my friend, and I have few friends in the White Tower, times being what they are," Seonid said. "Now, I need you to kiss me. Quickly.”

Edarra stared. “You are a madwoman.” 

“For trying to save your life on a whim? You may be right.”

Edarra glowered down at her. Seonid said nothing more, but voices had started to carry from the entryway. The sound of multiple newcomers -- armed, if the clink of chainmail and leather was anything to go by -- was unmistakable. Seonid was watching her with those dark unreadable eyes, and Edarra was swiftly running out of time. 

This time when Edarra touched her, Seonid did not rebuke her with a weave of _saidar_. Instead, she tilted her face up, and allowed Edarra to grasp her shoulders before bringing their mouths together in a stolen kiss.

It was a brief thing, fleet-footed as a race across the desert sands. Even as they parted, Edarra felt that she was chasing after her, as though she were straining to keep up while Seonid dashed ahead, swift as a flung spear.

“Good,” Seonid murmured. Her hand was resting lightly at Edarra’s waist. Edarra didn’t even recall it getting there in the first place. “Stay close to me."

The voices grew louder, more belligerent, and Seonid began to walk from the tall row of books that had been sheltering them during their interaction. For a moment, Edarra hesitated to follow. Her tongue darted out against her lower lip, tasting the memory of the kiss there. Clenching her hands into fists, she inwardly cursed her bad luck, then followed.

The two men from before -- Warders, Edarra realised now, men bound to their Aes Sedai to serve and protect unto death -- were speaking to a group of Cairhienin guards. One of the guardsmen had a magnificent white feather in his cap, his starched tabard was a brilliant sky blue with a sunburst stitched across his chest with gold thread. Edarra thought his enormous curled moustache looked alarmingly like a living creature. A stoat, maybe.

The man's dark eyes glanced around, and his expression shifted to one of surprise when he saw Seonid approaching him. "Lady Traighan." He swept his hat from his head with a bow, holding it over his heart. The other guardsmen bowed their helmed heads as well. "I did not know it was you who was holding up the lockdown."

Seonid watched him with an iciness that had not been present just moments before when she had been talking with Edarra. "Forgive me, Lieutenant Annallin. We were just finishing up."

He straightened, placing his hat back upon his head. His keen-eyed gaze drifted to Edarra, and he inclined his head with a somewhat puzzled brow. "Of course. Lady -?"

"Edarra," Seonid answered before Edarra could even open her mouth. "My lover."

"Your _what?"_ Edarra hissed, low enough that only Seonid could hear her.

Seonid shot her a discreet yet warning glance. She then smiled at the lieutenant in that cold detached way of hers, and said, "It is her first time visiting Cairhien, and I thought I ought to show her the Festival. Only, she wanted to see the Library, and we got a bit carried away. Isn't that right, darling?"

Edarra stared at her. It was only when Seonid nudged her with an elbow that Edarra cleared her throat and said, "Yes."

Lieutenant Annallin's moustache twitched, and his dark bushy brows drew down. He opened his mouth to speak, then darted a nervous look towards Seonid, who was at this point radiating a sort of icy menace that only a fool would ignore. "Of course," he said. He lifted a hand to touch his feathered cap with one fingertip in respect. "Allow me to escort you both out."

He turned and barked out commands to his men, who shuffled smartly about until they created two lines flanking the exit. He then stood aside and bowed at the waist, indicating for them to pass.

Seonid held out her arm to Edarra, who looked at her in complete confusion, until Seonid jerked her head slightly and gave her own arm a pointed glance. Feeling as if the world had gone mad, Edarra reached out and grasped Seonid's arm, just above the wrist. Seonid promptly tucked Edarra's hand into the crook of her elbow and held her there as they began to walk together down the winding staircase. The two Warders fell into step behind them, silent and loyal as hounds. And behind them, the Lieutenant and his guardsmen trailed like an honour guard.

Bowing her head, Edarra lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. “I thought Aes Sedai were incapable of outright lying.”

“Who said I was lying?”

“I do not remember bedding you, Seonid Traighan.” 

“No, but you did kiss me. That in and of itself was enough for me to -” Seonid made a flighty little gesture with her fingers. “- take creative liberties.”

"If I had known there would be this few people, I would've fought my way out," Edarra grumbled.

"We are not out of the building yet," Seonid said, and her voice sounded tight.

Edarra tried to get a read on her, but trying to see past the blank mask of Seonid's face was like trying to dig through a city's defensive walls with her bare hands. Seonid's arm beneath Edarra's hand was tense, pulled taught as a coiled wire and ready to act at a moment's notice.

By the time they reached the ground floor, the sun had begun to dim in its slant along the horizon. Daylight was still upon them, but only just. Soon a lavender dusk would settle across Cairhien, and Edarra could feel her chances of getting what she came for slendering. Seonid had kept their pace even and measured as they walked so as not to appear hurried, but Edarra could feel her own stride lengthening to keep up. Upon reaching the enormous front doors to the Royal Library, Lieutenant Annallin stopped them with courtesies.

"If you will allow me a moment, Lady Traighan," he started.

"A moment is not something I freely spare," Seonid said. If not for the warmth of her arm, Edarra might have thought Seonid was carved from a glacier.

Lieutenant Annallin bowed in reply, "Of course, my Lady. Only that I am required to inform my superior in the event of any delays."

"Then you'd best do your duty, sir," said Seonid, gently putting pressure on Edarra's arm to indicate that they should keep walking. Edarra did as instructed, remaining silent and watchful.

Lieutenant Annallin did not attempt to stop them, though Edarra could hear his booted footsteps retreating into a nearby room with haste.

"Quickly," Seonid muttered under her breath.

There was no doubt she was hurrying now. Gone was the graceful Aes Sedai glide. Her long green skirts swished with every step. The doors were opened by the Lieutenant's guardsmen without question, but before they could pass the threshold, a voice sounded behind them.

"I had not thought to see you back in Cairhien, Seonid. What a pleasant surprise."

Seonid's footsteps slowed to a halt, and Edarra could see the way her expression hardened ever so slightly -- a tightening around her eyes and mouth that would have been imperceptible to anyone who was more than a few paces away. She turned, quietly urging Edarra to follow suit.

"My Lord Bertome," Seonid dropped into a shallow curtsy, which Edarra fumbled to mimic. "You honour us."

A man was striding towards them with Lieutenant Annallin at his heels. He was short even for a Cairhien, which meant that next to Edarra he was shorter by a good head and shoulders. His face was heavily powdered so that he appeared even paler, a stark contrast to his black hair. Unlike Lieutenant Annallin, he was clean-shaven, and his cheeks and lips were rouged. Had it not been for the way Seonid was now gripping her arm, Edarra’s first impression would have been that this foppish Wetlander was someone to be laughed at rather than feared. 

"My condolences for the loss of your eldest brother," Bertome said when he had drawn near. His smile never seemed to touch the rest of his face, as though his mouth operated separately from other muscles. "Do you expect to be here long?"

"Only as long as the estate management demands," said Seonid. "I have business in Andor that I must return to as soon as possible."

"In Andor?" There was a cunning light in Bertome's dark eyes, and Edarra had an itching sense that there was some ulterior conversation being held at the same time to which she was not privy. Then, to her horror, his attention drifted to her. He took inventory of her appearance as though adding up all her pieces and finding the sum wanting. "And who is this?"

"Mistress Edarra," Seonid answered.

"A conquest from Andor, no doubt," he said with a sniff, clearly commenting on Edarra's gold rich hair. "I did not think your taste could fall even lower, but I see I was wrong."

"I think you'll find that Mistress Edarra is the most interesting person in the room, My Lord," Seonid said, ignoring the way Edarra gave the underside of her arm a warning little tap of her fingertips.

He watched them with the fixedness of a hawk searching the tall grasses for any hint or rustle of movement. "Is that so? Wanted to see Cairhien up close, did you?"

"Yes," said Edarra simply, trying to make her speech as short and unaccented as possible.

When she was not more forthcoming, Bertome eyed her askance. "Not very talkative, is she?" he said to Seonid with a sneer playing about his lips. "Though I suppose you appreciate her for her other talents."

Seonid smiled thinly at him, but made no reply.

"At the very least you ought to buy her clothes that fit." Bertome gestured towards the too-short hem of Edarra's dress that revealed her ankles and a decent portion of her calf. "I know it's the Festival of Lights tomorrow, but really."

Clearing her throat, Seonid steered the conversation round, "And how is your sister, My Lord? Still in your cousin's favour, I hope?"

If looks could kill, Seonid would lie dead on the floor. "Inseparable still, it would seem."

"How very lucky," Seonid said, and her dark eyes seemed to sparkle almost as viciously as her cold smile. "Do give her my regards, won't you?"

Bertome looked like he had just swallowed rancid milk. "Enjoy the Festival," he said, voice tight. Then, without another word or even a cursory nod to either of them, he spun about on the heel of his polish black boots and stormed off, back the way he had come. Lieutenant Annallin on the other hand bowed to them, removing his hat and sweeping it to his chest, only to tug it back over his head as he scampered after his social superior.

The muscles of Seonid's arm beneath Edarra's hand relaxed slightly, but only just. For a long moment Seonid glowered in the direction that Bertome had gone, and there was something deeply unpleasant about her expression. When she looked up at Edarra however, her face had reverted to its usual cool composure.

"Shall we?" Seonid tilted her head towards the door, which was still being held open by guardsmen, who were pretending to have not eavesdropped on the entire affair. As they passed through the exit, Edarra could feel their eyes upon her, following them beneath their bowled helms. Edarra found she could breathe easily only after they had managed to descend the steps leading to the Royal Library's entrance, and were swiftly on their way back towards the city centre.

At her side, Seonid remained quiet, until she said suddenly, "He is right, though."

Edarra blinked down at her. "What?"

In answer, Seonid touched the edge of the grey dress at Edarra's arm, which revealed far too much of her narrow wrist. "We really should get you a dress that fits."

"That is all you can say?"

"I could say a great many things," Seonid said dryly. "Count yourself fortunate I do not enjoy bandying words for the sound of my own voice."

"I do not know anyone who talks as much as you."

"Then you do not know many people. Come. This way."

There were a series of gates that led to the Royal Library. Guardsmen in blue uniforms with golden sunbursts marched about the courtyard that surrounded the tall building like a moat. More guardsmen still were waiting for them to leave before swinging the gates shut and securing them with chains that were as thick as Edarra's wrists. As Seonid led them towards a bustling area of the city away from the Library, Edarra could feel an anxiousness gnawing away at her stomach. Her quarry was getting away, and she had no way of knowing when she could sneak back in without a small army standing watch at every corner.

"Are you going to tell me what that was all about?" Edarra asked, as they turned down a broad avenue filled with market stalls and people vying for wares. The din of the city was astonishing. She would never get used to this many people gathered all in one place.

"That," said Seonid, "was the second most powerful person in Cairhien, depending on who you ask. He is the cousin to Colavaere Saighan, High Seat of House Saighan. Rumour has it she is making moves to ascend to the Sun Throne even as we speak. Bertome controls all the vast manpower of their House. He could single-handedly besiege the capital and take it, too, if he so wished."

"And his sister you asked about?"

"One does not kiss and tell."

Edarra frowned. "You kissed her?"

"Once upon a time, yes." Seonid brushed the notion aside with a graceful sweep of her free hand. "Old news, really. I left for The Tower, and she found someone else to warm her bed. The best outcome for us both, to be frank."

A hawker tried to approach the two of them, but one of Seonid's Warders stepped forward to fend him off with a glare that could melt steel. The hawker merely shrugged and turned his attention to the next person strolling by. The clamour of the street was enough that Edarra could barely hear herself think. Someone bumped into her and swore, only to apologise profusely and scoot away when he turned to find Edarra towering over him.

Edarra shook her head. "Why was Bertome Saighan so interested in your presence in Andor?"

Beside her, Seonid's head jerked. "Not here," she said in a low tone. "People are listening."

Edarra glanced down the crowded street, where everybody was too busy babbling over one another to notice them in the slightest. "Who?"

"You see that man over there? The baker?" Seonid pointed discreetly. "He's a spy for House Damodred. And that beggar, there? An agent for House Chuliandred. The food hawker we just passed? House Saighan. And that importer over there is from my House, actually. We will avoid her at all costs."

"Next thing you will be telling me the dog is a spy as well."

Seonid sniffed. "Don't be ridiculous. The dog is a drug-runner. See where they've stitched it up?"

Edarra stared, only just now noticing the stitches on the dog's flank which she had assumed was a wound but which bulged strangely. After a long moment of deep contemplation, she said in an utterly flat voice, "I hate this country."

Seonid patted her arm where it was still linked with her own, "We have so much in common already."

With a snort of wry laughter, Edarra looked down at this strange little woman, but Seonid seemed utterly content walking with her down the street. "Where are you taking me?"

"I have two rooms hired at an inn," Seonid said. "And there just so happens to be a seamstress around the corner."

"I do not need new clothes."

"You need to blend in, which you're failing at miserably."

Edarra gave an uncomfortable shrug of her shoulders. She stood at least a head taller than anyone within visible range, excepting one of Seonid's Warders, who only came up to her nose. And even he was clearly foreign, with his darker skin marking him apart in a sea of people who were almost universally pale and black-haired.

With everyone else, Edarra merely felt that they were too short. But with Seonid, she herself felt like she was too tall. Seonid held herself with such poise, that Edarra felt bumbling in comparison. As though she were crammed into a too-small room that was lined with expensive porcelains and rarities, and every movement she made risked scattering everything to the ground in a thousand thousand pieces.

Finally, Edarra relented, "I cannot barter for more clothes than this."

"I did not expect you to," said Seonid, and she touched a leather pouch at her waist that clinked with coin.

With a grunt, Edarra said, "Do not put me in anything restrictive. I need to be able to run. And none of those -" she made a face "- stripes. They are ugly and I do not like them."

For some reason that made Seonid laugh, and the sound was surprisingly crass from a woman who appeared so graceful.

"What is funny?" Edarra asked.

"You," said Seonid with a small smile.

It should not have made Edarra's breath catch in her chest, but it did. The gleam in Seonid's dark eyes was -- for the first time -- warm. And the smile was more than warm. It was genuine. She was, Edarra realised, very beautiful. Before, that fact had been a distant reality. Like saying that a sculpture was objectively beautiful. Now, it struck Edarra like the crack of a lash across the shoulder blades; a smile that could well warm wet blood to the surface of skin. 

Edarra could not tell if she never wanted it to happen again, or if she wanted to make Seonid laugh as often as possible.

* * *

The trip to the seamstress's shop was mercifully short. Edarra had started to strip down in a back corner of the shop without realising that she had been meant to pull a curtain round to conceal her from view. The seamstress had cleared her throat, and Seonid had twitched the curtain into place so that the two of them were sequestered away from the rest of the shop.

"Wetlanders are always so squeamish about flesh," Edarra said, pushing grey broadcloth down her legs and stepping from the too-small dress that pooled on the floor.

"Some of us, yes," Seonid said, though her eyes met Edarra's in the floor-length mirror without any hint of abashment. When she spoke again her tone was brook-no-nonsense, but low enough that they could not be overheard. “By now, everyone will have been informed that you are my lover from Andor. You may continue to use this story during your stay in Cairhien. It will explain away your hair colour, anyway. Say you were born in Caemlyn. That you are a merchant’s daughter of no name. Have you been?”

“To Caemlyn?” Edarra shook her head, and began to unbutton the white cotton undergarment that had kept the dress from touching her bare skin. “Never.”

“Then, say that your mother died in childbirth, and your father doted upon you, taking you everywhere in his travels. That you hardly remember anything of the nation to which you were born. You can keep the chemise on, by the way. She does not need you to be stark naked to take your measurements.”

Edarra pursed her lips, but lowered her hands from the partially undone buttons. “For someone incapable of lying, you encourage others to lie a lot.” 

“Last I checked, I wasn’t the one sneaking into a foreign city that would cheer to see me hanged in a public square. But to each their own.” 

The seamstress ducked beneath the curtain a moment later with a measuring tape draped around her shoulders. She took Edarra’s measurements with a brisk efficiency and an utter disinterest in small talk, which Edarra appreciated.

When she had left once again with instructions from Seonid to bring back something suitable to try on, Edarra waited until the curtain enclosed the two of them alone again before she asked, “Why this?”

Seonid gave a curious little tilt of her head. “What do you mean?”

“Why have you disguised me as your false lover?”

She half expected Seonid to deflect or otherwise wriggle out of the topic. Instead, Seonid’s answer was frank, "Everyone who's anyone in Cairhien already knows I prefer the company of women. It was the most plausible cover I could think of at the time, given the constraints."

"And it suits your designs as well, I suppose?" Edarra snorted and shook her head. "Typical."

Seonid seemed not ashamed in the slightest. She lifted one shoulder in a diminutive shrug. "It just so happens to play into my hand, yes."

"In what way?"

"Though you may not know it, that's a very personal question you've just asked." For a moment Seonid did not continue. She tongued the inside of her cheek in thoughtful contemplation, then finally she said, "I stand in line to inherit a number of titles that I would rather not be burdened with. Causing a bit of a scandal with you also serves to remind certain parties that I have neither the character nor the inclination to such titles."

Edarra made a face. "Why can you people never just say what you mean and be done with it?"

"Were it that simple," said Seonid, and she almost sounded wistful. 

Edarra was about to ask another question, when the seamstress returned, her arms full of dresses of various cut and fabric. Seonid leaned against the wall and watched with hooded eyes as Edarra was pinned into each one. The seamstress would look to Seonid for approval, which she would either reject with a purse of her lips, or give with the barest of nods. Edarra herself had no say in the matter. Nor did she want one. 

Soon, the seamstress was bustling away once more, taking the select few dresses Seonid had approved of for a final alteration. Meanwhile Edarra stood there in her shift, unable to get back into the ill-fitting dress she had been wearing before due to the fact that Seonid had given it to the seamstress with instructions to dispose of it. 

“This is a farce,” Edarra grumbled. “I must have angered someone in a previous life.”

“We only have to pretend for the duration of the Festival,” Seonid said. “Surely, you can stomach two days by my side. Then you can get the information you need from the library, and be on your merry way. And you never have to see me again." 

Edarra narrowed her eyes. "That is all? You will just let me go?" 

"I will." 

"I don't believe you. You tree-killers are all the same. Schemers and liars." 

Seonid arched an eyebrow at her. "Careful," she says but she sounded amused. "People might get the wrong idea about us, darling."

* * *

Sooner than Edarra would have thought, she was wearing a new gown, with two others wrapped in brown wax paper tucked under her arm, and Seonid was paying the seamstress. An exchange of gold, a murmur to keep the spare change, and they were off. The seamstress and her staff had already begun closing shop while their last two customers were present. Edarra had the sneaking suspicion that this particular shop was somehow aligned with House Traighan, when Seonid and the seamstress exchanged a few cryptic words while gold changed hands, but she did not pry. It was none of her business. And more importantly, even if she had been interested, there was absolutely no way she could have kept up with the complex political web that was spun about every aspect of life in Cairhien. Even three days here was already enough to drive Edarra half mad. 

Outside, dusk had fallen to night. Every window was light with candles, and lanterns shrouded in coloured parchment hung from lines strung between buildings, so that the street was lit up like the night sky. 

The air was colder here than she was accustomed to. Inwardly she was grateful for the new dress made of fine wool that was heavier than what she had been wearing before. Her shoulders no longer felt like they were going to burst from the seams if she straightened to her full height, and it was with a sigh of pleasure that she did so, rolling her neck from side to side as they walked. She caught Seonid watching her movements askance.

"Feeling better?" Seonid asked.

Edarra made a noise of affirmation in the back of her throat. "I will return these to you once my task here is finished."

At that Seonid snorted. "Why? I have no use for them."

"If I wore these in the Three-fold Land, I would boil alive."

"Then keep them for when you return."

Edarra opened her mouth to retort that she had no intention of ever returning, but cut herself off short before she could speak. It was impossible for her people to dwell in isolation beyond the sands. There was little doubt that she would be back at some point in the future. Still, she made a face. "They will be out of fashion in a week, knowing your lot."

This time Seonid's laugh was no more than a throaty chuckle, but it had the same effect as before. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

They were not alone on the street. Not by far. Despite the advanced hour of the day, people continued to bustle about. Drinks were being passed 'round, and every door had been left flung open to admit a steady stream of thirsty patrons. Edarra spied several couples -- and sometimes more than two together, as well -- dancing or in some cases ducking beneath a shadowed eave to press their mouths and bodies together.

"This festival," Edarra said. "is a waste of time. Why are there so many drinking and dancing and kissing, when doom is upon your gates?"

"Sometimes," Seonid replied, "drinking and dancing and kissing are all one can do when doom befalls us. Or would you rather have them despair?"

"I would rather have them fight and live."

"These people? Most of them have never held a weapon in their lives."

"Because you are soft. Because you coddle your citizens to be weak and docile all their lives."

"Perhaps," said Seonid. "But I would rather they be allowed the choice to live soft lives, then be forced to harden themselves. The world is cruel enough. Let them dance one last time before the darkness takes us all."

Edarra scoffed. "I would rather die with a spear in my hands and _saidar_ on my lips, than be dulled by honeyed wine like sheep to the slaughter."

"And that is your choice. But here and now," Seonid added with a pointed look, "one must blend in, so as not to be caught by parties other than a friendly Aes Sedai."

"You are not my friend."

"You wound me." Seonid said dryly. "We're here, by the way."

She had led them to an inn that was as lively as the rest of the street. Edarra had to shoulder her way through the front door past a number of people who were congregating on the stoop and laughing. Meanwhile Seonid followed in her wake, and people parted before her.

One of the men made to grab her, but before he could so much as touch her, one of Seonid's Warders had his blade out of its sheath in a gleaming arc. The length of sharp steel was pressed against a throat.

The offender raised his hands and grinned. "Don't be like that, good sir! Festival rules!"

"Festival doesn't start until dawn tomorrow," the Warder growled, his voice as hard and unyielding as his expression. "Keep your hands to yourself until then."

The man simply shrugged in reply, and the Warder sheathed his heron-marked sword once more. If Seonid was at all perturbed, she did not show it. The man gave her a comical bow as she passed, flourishing his hand and touching the crown of his forehead as though paying obeisance to a queen. Both of Seonid's Warders flanked her more closely inside, faces grim and hands resting on the hilts of their swords.

Edarra shot Seonid a questioning look. "If one of them had grabbed me like that, I would have cut off his hands."

"It's not all bad," Seonid said. "Festival rules also meant I kissed my first girl without recrimination. Nobody could cry foul until I made the mistake of kissing one on another day of the year."

Edarra shook her head. "It is a strange place where you must hide your affections so."

"On that we are agreed."

Seonid dropped the matter, striding towards a staircase at the far end of the busy room. A quick flight of stairs, a walk down a narrow corridor, and Seonid was pulling out a key to open a door to one of the rooms. She opened it and gestured for Edarra to enter before her. When Edarra had stepped inside, she heard Seonid murmur something to her two Warders before closing the door.

A glance around revealed a spacious bedroom, complete with a writing desk, a mirror hanging from the wall, and a washbasin with a jug of freshwater and a bar of ivory coloured soap beside it. Behind her, Edarra could feel the unmistakable stirrings of something grasping The Source, and Seonid lit the candles around the room with a gesture.

"Make yourself comfortable," Seonid said as she strode by Edarra, slipping the green-fringed shawl from her shoulders as she went. "I expect we'll be here a while. Unless you want to explore the city?"

Edarra wrinkled her nose. "No."

"As you like." Seonid opened another door to reveal a closet, where she hung the shawl upon a hook. "I have arranged for meals to be brought up here. I prefer to eat while I work. Not to mention, people will become bolder as we get closer to the Festival proper.”

Edarra wandered over to the desk. It was littered with half-written letters in what she assumed was Seonid’s neat yet cramped scrawl. A quill and a small sharpening knife were set to one side. Two pots of ink and a few finger lengths of green wax were huddled around a candle. She set down the wrapped dresses on the corner of the desk, and scanned the first few lines of one of the letters. It did not tell her much. She did not know who these people were, or why they were so concerned with the goings on of Caemlyn.

Seonid did not stop her. Indeed, she was leaning in the doorway to the closet, arms crossed, head tilted to one side in a thoughtful stance. She had removed her heeled shoes, so that she stood even shorter than before. With her glossy hair spilling down her back in waves, she appeared almost doll-like -- if a doll could have an aura of both practicality and dignity in equal measure. 

Edarra nodded towards the shut exit. “What will they do? Your men.”

“Who? Furen and Teryl?” Seonid waved a dismissive hand. “They will amuse themselves, I’m sure.”

“And you?”

Seonid smiled. “I suppose I shall have to amuse myself as well.”

That smile sent a lick of heat curling in Edarra’s stomach. She steeled herself against it. “You never did tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What you were doing in the Library.”

Seonid tapped the fingers of one hand against her opposite arm. Then, she reached into a pocket of her dress and pulled out a scroll that had been folded up into a neat square. “The Royal Library holds detailed family records of each House. Including specific House inheritances, which tend to be broken up into individual settlements, that result in disputing claims and the like.”

“I’ve never met a Cairhienin who didn’t want the titles and power owed to them,” said Edarra. “That can’t be the only reason why you came back.”

Twirling the folded bit of parchment between her slender fingers, Seonid pursed her lips. "One is never truly outside of the Game, but to be outside of Cairhien is to lose sight of the web. And that is, perhaps, the most dangerous position of all. I have not been here in some time, and reports and gossip can only do so much. I needed to see for myself the shape of the Game as it currently stands."

"Why?"

"The winds of change are upon us. You know this as much as I. Cairhien feels it, too. There is much to be played yet, and I would ensure that the pieces fall in my favour. Now, if you don’t mind,” Seonid crossed the room to stand beside the desk, one hand on the back of the chair as if readying herself to pull it out. “I would like to do some work.” 

With a frown, Edarra stayed put even as Seonid sat down. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I told you I would save your life, not entertain you,” Seonid said, already sharpening the nib of her quill and readying a fresh sheet of parchment for another letter. “In fact, I specifically remember your promise to entertain _me.”_

If Edarra scowled any more, it would become a permanent fixture of her face. “I already told you why I am here.”

"Then we have nothing more to discuss."

And that, it seemed, was that. Edarra strode off to the other side of the room to look out the window, but that did not occupy her for long. Meanwhile Seonid had engrossed herself in work, and Edarra might not as well have existed. The last time Edarra had been so thoroughly ignored, she was in training to become a Wise One, performing menial one menial task after another until she finally put her foot down and demanded a place among their ranks.

Somehow, she did not think that sort of behaviour would be as successful here and now.

Eventually, she kicked off her shoes and sat upon the bed. She took a hunting knife that had been strapped to her leg, and threw it up at the ceiling, where the blade would stick into the wooden beams. A brief channel of _saidar_ would yank it free and guide it back to her hand to be cast once more. Not once did Seonid complain about the noise. And outside, the streets only grew more rowdy as the time for the Festival drew nearer.

Dinner was a simple affair. True to her word, Seonid worked right through it, picking at her plate with one hand, while her dominant hand continued to scribble away at her many missives. Edarra had never encountered someone who wrote so many letters in her life. Perhaps all Cairhienin were like this, she thought while she chewed her own food, studying the bowed back of Seonid's head. Or perhaps it was an Aes Sedai trait, to be so well connected that they maintained such far-reaching ties.

It seemed like a waste of precious parchment. Meeting with other Wise Ones in the Dream was far more efficient.

Hours passed. The candlesticks dripped with trails of wax all down their brass holders. Edarra had taken to amusing herself by dipping her fingertips in one such hot pool of wax beneath a flickering flame, and sculpting figures which she lined up on the windowsill like little soldiers. Then, there came a sigh from across the room, and Seonid set down her quill. She leaned back in the chair and stretched her arms over her head, rolling her neck with a small groan in the back of her throat.

"You will ruin your eyes one day," Edarra said without glancing up from where she was rolling warm wax between her thumb and forefinger.

"Yes." Seonid rose from the chair and walked over to the closet once more. "I already have trouble seeing things very far away. It all blurs together in the distance."

The sound of rustling cloth brought Edarra's attention around. She turned to find that Seonid had slid the outer dress down her body and was busy hanging it, leaving her in a white shift. Idly, Edarra watched. Seonid glanced up, their eyes meeting. Without a hint of hesitation, she lifted her hands to the ties that fastened her shift into place, loosening the material until it slipped to the floor and left her utterly bare.

Edarra feigned disinterest. She told herself her gaze was not appreciative, that she was in no way disappointed when Seonid pulled a plain white nightgown over her head. Dark waves tumbled as Seonid dragged her long hair free from the shift. She crossed the room to tip cold water from the jug into the basin, and washed her face. Free from the paints and powders, patting her face dry with a towel, she appeared exhausted. There were bruise-like shadows beneath her eyes and at the hollows of her cheeks.

Tossing the towel onto the stand for the basin, Seonid sighed and strode over to the bed. “Move over,” she said.

“What?”

Seonid lifted one corner of the blanket. “I am tired and I want to sleep. I thought that was obvious.”

Edarra spread her hands. "Do you expect me to sleep on the floor?"

"I do not care where you sleep, only that you let me do so in peace," said Seonid, and she was already wriggling into place beneath the covers, so that Edarra had to lean away or risk them touching.

For a moment Edarra seriously considered crawling under the sheets beside her purely out of spite. In the end however, she snatched up one the spare pillows and tossed it onto the ground nearby.

"There's another blanket in the closet," Seonid said without opening her eyes. A flicker of _saidar_ woven into air, and all the candles were snuffed out in a wink.

Edarra did not bother getting the blanket. With a huff, she simply drew her woolen cloak around herself, and curled upon on the wooden floor boards to sleep.

* * *

The morning arrived with a knock on the door. Edarra bolted upright in a flash, the dagger she normally kept strapped to her thigh now clenched in a ready fist. When the door opened however, it was just one of Seonid's Warders. Furen or Teryl, she did not know which.

His craggy face peered down at her through a gap in the open door. He blinked owlishly at the dagger pointed in his direction, before saying, "I have told the cook to delay your breakfast."

From the bed there came a muffled groan beneath the sheets. Seonid was a misshapen lump that shuffled about until her voice rasped, "An hour?"

He merely nodded, and with one last parting glance at Edarra, shut the door.

Fingers tightening around the hilt of the dagger, Edarra sheathed the weapon. The night had been long and full of noise from the streets. Her sleep had been fitful, often punctuated with yells from people beneath their window or the sounds of music drifting by, as if a live troupe of musicians had been walking the streets. Back home, the nights were as silent as they were freezing. Edarra rubbed at her eyes.

"Did you not even lock the door?" she asked.

There was no answer.

Glowering in the direction of the bed, Edarra said, "I am speaking to you, Seonid Traighan."

"And I am sleeping, Edarra of the Wastes."

"You talk very well for someone who is asleep."

Silence.

Edarra reached out and tugged at a corner of the sheet. "I asked you a question."

Seonid was nowhere to be seen beneath the blankets. Even her head was obscured from sight. When she moved, Edarra could just make out the roll of a shoulder and the shape of a hip. Finally, Seonid grumbled quietly, "He has a key. Obviously."

It was evident that was all she was going to get for now. Seonid fell still and silent again, and Edarra rose to her feet. She dusted off her skirts, tugging at the fabric to rid herself of any wrinkles, before crossing the room and slipping out the door. Seonid did not stop her. Indeed, Seonid did not rouse at all. If Edarra had to guess, she had already gone right back to sleep.

Shutting the door behind her, Edarra turned to find a Warder standing in the hallway just outside. He was a different one from before. This one had a reddish tint to his hair. He stood only slightly shorter than Edarra herself. Arms crossed, shoulder leaning against the wall, he regarded her from beneath the hood of his changeant cloak with an expression that could only be called 'wary.'

Edarra gestured towards the closed door behind her, and said, "She is asleep."

His steely eyes were steady and unmoving. "I know," he said.

An awkward silence descended over them. Briefly Edarra wondered if he would bar her path if she tried to step by him, but he seemed only to be stationed to keep others from entry, not keeping her inside like a prison guardsman.

"She is difficult to wake," Edarra remarked purely for the lack of anything else to say.

He merely nodded. "She does not sleep enough."

"Which one are you?"

He shifted his weight so that he might lean the heel of his foot against the wall behind him. "Teryl."

When no further information was forthcoming, Edarra pointed past him down the hall. "Furen mentioned something about food?"

"We will bring it up for you," said Teryl.

"No," said Edarra. "I would like to bring it."

He lifted his eyebrows.

"Is that not a thing one does for a lover in Cairhien?" Edarra asked.

At that, Teryl gave a derisive snort. Then, without a word he made a gesture for Edarra to pass. He watched her go all the way down the hall. And even after she had descended the steps, she could still feel the weight of his gaze upon her.

Downstairs, it was no less rowdy than it had been the night before. Except this time, there seemed to be more people taking to the streets and only stopping at the inn for a refill of their cups. It could not have been near midday, and already she spied several drunken staggers, the babble of words slightly slurred accompanied by peals of competing laughter. She had to dodge a few unwanted advances from men and women alike in her search for the kitchens, but a well-aimed glare sent people scurring away with their tails between their legs.

Once there, the cook shoved a tray into her hands before she could get more than two sentences out of her mouth. She had practised what she was going to say, too, in an effort to ensure her accent was not so rough. It was both gratifying and grating that nobody seemed to care a whit. Carrying the tray laden with food back up to the room was a far more arduous task, and more than once she had to lift the tray up high and regain her balance after someone bumped into her.

Back upstairs, both Furen and Teryl were waiting for her. Despite their clear difference in ancestry, they seemed like a matching set of faithful hounds lounging about outside their mistress's room.

"I told you," Teryl said.

Furen grimaced and forked up a silver coin, sending it spinning through the air with a flick of his thumb. Teryl caught it, and the coin vanished.

Edarra narrowed her eyes at the both of them, but their faces gave away nothing. "The door," she said.

Without a word, Teryl pulled out an iron-wrought key and unlocked the door, pushing it open just wide enough for Edarra to slip inside unhindered. The moment she was through, the door shut behind her with a soft click, followed by the tumble of a locking mechanism.

A quick glance at the bed proved that Seonid was still fast asleep. Edarra carried the tray over, and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped beneath her weight.

"Wake up."

Seonid murmured something unintelligible.

Edarra moved about a few items on the tray, picking up the lid of a pot to peer inside. Tendrils of steam wafted up, and she set the porcelain lid back down. "There is some awful brew here for you. Judging by the state of everyone else in this city, I am amazed it is not alcoholic."

That got Seonid's attention. Movement from beneath the sheets, and a tangle of dark hair poked into view. Seonid blinked blearily at her in the light streaming through the windows. Slowly, she sat up and raked a hand through her hair.

"Has it been an hour already?" she asked and her voice was sleep-roughened.

"No," said Edarra.

She placed the tray on a flat stretch of the mattress, and began to help herself to its contents. She did not touch the brew, sticking entirely to the bread and butter and jar of preserves.

On the other hand, Seonid reached immediately for the pot and poured herself a steaming cup. She sighed at the first sip as if it were the water of life itself. "Light, I needed a good cup of tea," she murmured around the lip of the mug.

Edarra busied herself with scraping a thin layer of butter over bread, rather than letting her eyes linger on the way the night gown had slipped down one of Seonid's pale shoulders. "What is the plan today?"

Seonid hummed a note in the back of her throat, then set the half-drunk cup of tea back down upon its saucer. "I intend to work, mostly. Though we should make an appearance in the Festival at some point."

Wrinkling her nose, Edarra asked around a mouthful, "Why?"

One of Seonid's hands made a dismissive gesture, while her other reached for the preserves, which she dolloped liberally onto a roll of warm bread. "To be seen. Nothing more. We only need to walk about a bit. Pretend to have a drink. Dance, maybe."

"I am not dancing," said Edarra stoutly.

"Then don't. It was only a suggestion." Seonid had leaned back against the pillows once more, eating a roll of bread over her cup of tea so as not to scatter crumbs about. "After that, we can remain inside and avoid the rest until the Festival is finished. At which point, they will stop guarding the Royal Library, and we can be on our way."

They continued to eat in silence. Every now and then there would come a shout from the street, and Seonid would wince at the intrusion. With every sip of tea however, she seemed to become more and more herself again.

"You never told me why they guard the Library," Edarra said.

Seonid lifted what was now her third cup of tea towards the window. "Because of them. One year -- I don't know how long ago; well before I was born -- some of the more rambunctious revellers traipsed into the Library and nearly set fire to the whole lot. Every year since, they've locked it along with the Sun Palace."

Edarra reached for some of the slices of fresh fruit neatly arrayed on a plate. She lifted a slice to her mouth, but recoiled at the first touch to her tongue, making a face.

Seonid was watching her with amusement. "It's a lemon. It's supposed to be sour."

In barely veiled disgust, Edarra set it back down on the plate. "Why do they give you this?"

"Some people like it in their tea."

“Do you like it?”

“No,” said Seonid. “I like bitter things.”

“Then your assassin does not know you well.”

Seonid blinked. Slowly, she lowered her cup. “I beg your pardon?”

Edarra pointed to her mouth. “My tongue has gone numb. Someone knew of your penchant for this tea you like, but not that you take no sour fruit in it.”

Tapping her finger against the handle of the cup, Seonid said simply, “Hmm.” 

“You are not very surprised to learn of this.”

“No,” said Seonid, and though her tone was level her eyes were black as a stormcloud. “I’m just thinking through who it might have been.”

“Bertome Saighan?” Edarra ventured. She pushed the little dish of fruit further towards a far corner of the tray, away from them. 

At that, Seonid gave a huff of amusement. “Doubtful. He thinks me beneath his notice, let alone worthy enough to be considered a threat.” She looked down at the dish of fruit, then frowned. Her hand reached out to trace the delicate blue pattern on white, before unceremoniously tipping the slices of lemon onto the tray in order to turn the dish over and study the maker’s marks on the back. “Imported from Ebou Dar.”

The numbness had already begun to fade from the tip of Edarra’s tongue. She tested it against the edge of her teeth just to be sure. “You know who it is?”

“I have an inkling.” 

All of a sudden, Seonid was pushing the tray aside so that she might swing her legs over the side of the bed and stand. She walked over to the door, unlocked it, and yanked it open. Whatever she said to her Warders outside had one of them storming off down the hallway with grim purpose, while the other began looking her over for any signs of injury. 

“Oh, stop fussing!” she chided. “I’m fine.”

Furen said something that Edarra could not hear from where she still sat on the edge of the mattress.

“Yes, she’s fine, too,” Seonid insisted.

Regardless, he stuck his head through the door to give Edarra a once-over just to be sure. Seonid had to push him back through the door and close it on his face.

“Honestly,” she muttered in exasperation as she turned the lock. She crossed over to the closet to get dressed in a green gown, different this time to what she wore previously -- she seemed to have an endless supply of green dresses in various cuts that were undoubtedly in the height of fashion, though Edarra could not have told them apart if her life depended on it.

For her part, Edarra did not bother changing out of the dress she had been bought the day before. The others fitted for her were still wrapped in the brown wax paper packaging, tied neatly with twine atop the desk. She lounged on the bed, a silent watcher while Seonid fixed her hair and adorned her face in the mirror with powders and paints over the wash basin. 

And at the end of this painstaking morning ritual, all Seonid did was sit down at the desk to do more work. With a sigh, Edarra flopped back onto the bed and resigned herself to a day of waiting. 

Every now and then one of the Warders would knock at the door and enter the room to deliver some cryptic message or another. Seonid would listen with only half an ear. Sometimes she said something in return that was just as enigmatic. Other times, she would simply stamp a wax seal over one of her many missives and hand it wordlessly out to her Warder, who would take it and vanish into the corridor. 

One time Teryl entered the room and bowed low so that he might whisper something for Seonid’s ear alone. She went stock still, a furrow marring her otherwise smooth brow. 

“Tell him I will not be attending,” Seonid murmured, dipping the tip of her quill rather viciously into the inkwell. “Tell him I am busy.”

Teryl whispered something that was again too low for Edarra to hear, but whatever it was it made Seonid’s shoulders go even more rigid.

“Then tell him I’m too busy fucking a woman,” Seonid snapped. “That ought to shut him up. For a few days anyway.”

If Teryl was at all startled by this exchange, he did not show it. He merely cast Edarra a sidelong glance before striding from the room and shutting the door behind him once more. 

“Who is it?” Edarra asked from where she was seated on the bed, reading a book she had pilfered from Seonid’s saddle bags in the closet. 

The tip of the feather quill was just visible over Seonid’s shoulder, twitching with the movement of her hand. “My younger brother.”

She did not volunteer any more information after that. 

The next time they ate, Furen brought them food. He refused to let them partake until he had taken a bite of everything. Seonid rolled her eyes, but allowed it nonetheless. It was a simple meal involving cold cuts, bread, and a spicy fermented yellow sauce that made Edarra’s eyes water when she slathered too much of it onto her bite. Seonid on the other hand was far more parsimonious with her application of the sauce, and if anything she seemed to take a small measure of amusement at Edarra’s misfortune.

“What if it had been poison again?” Edarra grumbled.

“Then I would have stopped laughing and Healed you,” said Seonid. She had another cup of tea and her eyes glittered like black stones as she took a sip. 

Edarra made a rude gesture with her fingers, and Seonid laughed. She was still smiling when Furen returned to take away the tray. He shot Edarra a strange look, but she paid it no heed. With a brief touch at Seonid’s shoulder, he left another teapot on the table for her, its curved spout steaming beside a little jug of cold milk. Seonid did not thank him, but somehow Edarra sensed that there was some hidden conversation that passed between them.

She had heard of the bond between Aes Sedai and their Warders, but she knew little of its exact details. Only that they shared some deep emotional connection along with the heightened attributes that came with such a bond. Sorilea had told her a tale of finding a Warder in the desert, carrying the body of his Aes Sedai in search of water. Nothing could be done for the woman -- she had been too far gone -- and despite the clan’s attempts to salvage the Warder’s life, they found him not long after dangling from a tent beam by a rope. One rarely survived the other by virtue, it seemed, of grief alone. 

She wondered now, watching Seonid and Furen, what it was that had brought them together. Seonid’s expression always relaxed somewhat in the presence of either of them, and at first Edarra had suspected that it was simply a measure of feeling more secure around one’s bodyguards. As Furen’s scarred hand lingered on Seonid’s shoulder for one too many heartbeats however, the fondness between them was unmistakable. 

Before the door shut behind him, Seonid was already pulling the papers back towards her across the desk. Her fingertips were smudged with blots of ink. She twirled the quill between her hand deep in momentary thought, then began to write once more. 

Edarra stood behind her and read over her shoulder. “Is this really what you do all day?”

“Why are you so concerned with what I do all day?” said Seonid. Her quill continued to scratch at the parchment, leaving a trail of her cramped handwriting. What Edarra could see of it was mostly nonsense. Talk of tea and other frivolities. Code speak, undoubtedly. 

“It is little wonder you were forced to relinquish The White Tower,” Edarra said. “Your enemies must prefer action to writing about teacakes. What is a teacake, by the way?”

Seonid’s hand faltered for a moment, but still she did not look up from her work. “It is a type of sweet bun filled with dried fruits and served with the eponymous tea.” 

Her perpetual calm was aggravating in a way that Edarra could not articulate. Wise Ones did not hide behind the shelter of false facades of serenity. They were not led by their emotions either, but they did not trick themselves into believing that they had no emotions whatsoever. Perhaps most irritating of all was how Edarra felt like a youngling tugging at the skirts of another in an attempt to elicit some reaction, any reaction. 

Emboldened, Edarra picked up said teacup and took a sip. The taste was warm, earthy, and faintly floral all at once. A far cry from the tea Edarra was used to -- herbal infusions meant to be as medicinal as they were soothing -- but not at all as unpleasant as she had initially thought. Not even this intrusion could ruffle her hostess, it seemed. Seonid simply reached out and took the cup from Edarra so she could take a sip herself. 

It wasn't until nightfall that Seonid finally tore herself away from the writing desk. Edarra had long since given up and left the room to play dice with Furen and Teryl in the hallway just outside. Neither were very forthcoming, but that suited Edarra just fine. When the door to the room opened, Seonid stood in the entryway looking down at them without the barest hint of surprise.

"Who's winning?" she asked.

Both Teryl and Edarra gestured towards Furen.

"I believe he is cheating," Edarra said. "Though I have not yet figured out exactly how."

Seonid hummed, the hint of a smile playing about her lips. "I believe you may be right."

Furen for his part gave away nothing. He might as well have been carved from stone. He scooped up the dice and sequestered them away with a turn of his wrist that was too quick for the eye to follow.

Seonid's smile turned to Edarra. "You should change your clothes, and we should go out. Just for a brief while."

Pushing herself to her feet, Edarra plucked at the long hems of her sky blue dress. "What is wrong with this one?"

"You wore it yesterday."

"And?" Edarra asked. "I thought you were supposed to be too busy fucking me."

Behind her, she could hear a muffled snort, as though one of the Warders had choked back a laugh. Seonid bit her lower lip, but she did not look angry or taken aback. If anything, she appeared amused. As though she were trying to hold back a laugh of her own.

"Careful," she warned, stepping forward into the hallway and closing the door behind her. "We may make a Game expert of you, yet."

"I would cut open my stomach first," said Edarra. Even as she said it, she offered Seonid her arm. "Shall we?"

Seonid's dark eyes were utterly unreadable. Slowly, she reached out and took Edarra's arm. They started down the hallway and towards the steps. When Furen and Teryl began to follow however, Seonid said over her shoulder, "You two, stay."

"You cannot be serious," Furen said.

"She could stick that dagger in your ribs the moment you're around the corner," said Teryl, pointing to where Edarra kept a knife strapped to her thigh beneath her skirt.

"They are right," Edarra said.

"They are not." Seonid told her admonishingly. Then to her Warders she said, "If she wanted me dead, she could have killed me any number of times already."

"You have only known me a day," Edarra pointed out.

"Plenty of time to judge your character."

That should not have been as flattering as it was. Edarra should have felt annoyed. Seonid should fear her, or at the very least be wary of her. Instead, she was urging Edarra down the steps and into the fray without a second glance back at her Warders. Edarra could have overpowered her any number of ways. With saidar. With physical force. With ease. Instead, she allowed herself to be guided along, led by a warm touch.

The revelry had not faltered in the slightest as the day had gone on. Indeed, it seemed to have intensified twofold. There were people everywhere. They crowded every space, every cranny, until one could hardly walk without bumping into someone. The only saving grace was that they had all become so engrossed in the festivities and each other, that hardly anyone seemed to notice two more added to their midst.

"I would not eat or drink anything, if I were you," Edarra murmured in a low tone.

"Luckily I have no intention of doing so," Seonid said. She took them out of the inn and onto the street, which was no less packed.

Edarra had to do a fancy bit of footwork to not tread upon a half-naked drunkard sleeping on the stoop. "Please no dancing," she said.

"You do not like dancing?"

"I am very bad at it."

"That is not what I asked," said Seonid archly.

Edarra considered this for a moment before saying, "The only dances I know will mark me as Aiel to anyone who knows anything of my people."

"So, this is a learning opportunity, then?" Seonid's dark eyes gleamed in a way that made Edarra's mouth go dry. "Excellent. This way."

Her complaints were weak and not at all heartfelt as Seonid guided them down the street. They wove between the mass of people. It was not far to walk, but by the time they arrived the hems of Edarra's dress were wet from the copious amounts of wine and beer that had been sloshed and pooled across the cobblestones. Somehow, Seonid had escaped any such puddles. Perhaps there was a secret to floor-length hems that Edarra was not aware of.

As they had moved, the sounds of music and cheering had grown louder. The lights strung along lines of bunting had grown more frequent. Until finally, the crowd and the noise had become so thick, that they were less making their way and more slowly squeezing themselves through a tangle of bodies to reveal a city square. At its centre there was the broad stump of a tree that had been felled. Couples danced around it, while seated atop was a small troup of live musicians playing instruments.

A pang of something twisted deep in Edarra's gut. She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide and fixed upon the tree stump.

"Is that -?" she breathed.

Seonid's hand squeezed her forearm gently. "I thought you might like to see it during your visit."

 _Avendoraldera._ A cutting of the sacred world tree that her people had given as a gift of thanks to the nation of Cairhien. A tree which had been hacked to pieces for a king's pride. The start of a bloody war that had carved a path from the desert to the White Tower. The beginning of the end.

"Was I wrong?"

Clearing her throat, Edarra shook her head as if shaking herself from a stupor. "No," she said, and her voice grew harder. "They are playing on it."

At her side Seonid grimaced. "Ah. Yes. I know it does not mean much when I say this, but most days people do not dare touch it."

Except it did mean something. It meant Edarra could tear her gaze away from the most sacred gift her people had ever given to another, and look instead at Seonid, who was watching her with -- not wariness. Not exactly. With curiosity. And perhaps sorrow, though Edarra was not sure if that was sincere or a mere trick of the light reflected in Seonid's eyes.

The song died down, and the crowd around them roared its approval, their applause lifting into the air. The musicians plucked experimentally at their strings before striking a chord.

"You said something about teaching me a Wetlander dance," Edarra said.

Seonid searched her face, then laced their fingers together. "So, I did."

With a tug at Edarra's hand, she was leading them out into the broad square. The cobblestones here had given way to slabs of marble alternating in various shades of white and grey to create a sunburst that radiated outwards from the tree stump. They found a gap among the other dancers, and took their place.

"Your right hand goes here." Seonid guided Edarra's hand so that it cradled her waist. "And your other stays here. Closer, now. Don't be shy."

There was nothing shy about the warmth of Seonid's hip beneath a layer of crushed green silk. She had left her shawl behind, but this time she wore a small white stone on a fine gold chain laced through her hair and resting in the centre of her forehead. It sparkled in the light, and when Edarra glanced down she was met with a view of Seonid's plunging neckline.

She almost wished Seonid had worn the shawl. Almost.

Seonid was still talking. "Now, we're going to keep our steps in a box formation for now. Like this. You see?"

Edarra nodded. "Yes," she lied.

The music was fast and jubilant, bows sliding over the necks of fiddles and fingers flying over strings. Edarra was a slow learner, but she had a patient teacher. More than once, she stepped on Seonid's foot and winced out of sympathy and mortification. Dancing with blades was one thing. Dancing with a beautiful woman was quite another. Enough people thronged the courtyard that they couldn't do more than a few rotations of dance steps before they returned to exactly where they started. When Edarra scrunched up her nose and made a face, Seonid laughed.

It must have been the noise, Edarra thought. Or perhaps it was something about the lights. The way the very air seemed to shiver. The way Seonid's dark hair glowed almost deep red at the edges. The flush of her pale cheeks and the warmth of her hand in Edarra's.

The song ended, and again the crowd clapped and called out for another. Some stumbled to the edges to trade places with others. Some paused to grab a tankard of ale and tip it down their throats before rushing back to the courtyard in the arms of a new dance partner.

Meanwhile, Edarra still had her hand at Seonid's waist, the two of them standing close enough that she could feel the brush of their hems against her ankles.

"Was that so bad?" Seonid asked.

"No," said Edarra, and this time it was not a lie.

Movement flickered at the edge of her vision, and she glanced over. There among the crowd at the fringes of the courtyard were two people that seemed oddly familiar. Edarra frowned over the top of Seonid's head.

"The food hawker and the beggar from yesterday," she said. "They are together and watching us."

Seonid did not glance around. "Yes, I imagine they are."

Edarra's chin jerked back down in surprise.

"They started watching us about midway through the last song," Seonid explained. "You were very convincing, by the way."

A spy from House Saighan, and a spy from House Chuliandred. Except Bertome Saighan did not consider Seonid worth spying on. A passing interest, then. Keeping tabs on old names and new arrivals. 

The Game, Edarra realised with a kind of horror, was almost starting to make sense. 

"And what do you want them to see?" Edarra asked.

The music was starting up again. For a moment Seonid studied her, silent. Then, she answered, "I want them to see my utter aversion to being led to the trammels in which they hope to ensnare me."

It was the lights, Edarra decided, as she leaned down to kiss her. The gleam of starlight and the heat of their mouths. Seonid was still for only a moment before responding in kind. Edarra parted her lips and Seonid's tongue curled against her own. She did not know when she had reached up to wrap her fist around a handful of Seonid's dark hair, but now she was pulling her close and enjoying the small noise Seonid made in the back of her throat as though it were a triumph itself. Edarra pulled back just enough to break the kiss, but her hand remained in Seonid's hair, testing the silky texture between her fingers. 

"You do not have to lie to these people," Edarra said. When Seonid frowned at her in puzzlement, she clarified, "You _can_ be too busy fucking a woman." 

It was the first time in their short acquaintance that she had ever seen Seonid look genuinely shocked. Somehow, it felt like a victory. 

"Well, I - That's very - What I mean to say is -" Seonid had to pause to visibly collect herself for a moment. Then, she took Edarra's hand with a determined expression, and said, "If this is born from some sort of Aiel sense of obligation, I'll have you know that I want no part in it." 

Edarra laughed. "I do not owe you _toh._ Our mutual obligation has already been met, from the moment you and I offered to help one another." 

"Thank the Light," Seonid breathed, and she tugged Edarra down for another heated kiss. 

It was a rambling stumble back to the inn. Edarra kept pausing to pin Seonid up against a shadowed eave along the way, to slant their mouths together and let her hands wander over the low neckline of her dress that had been haunting her all day. Suddenly they had become just another overeager couple caught up in the freedom of the Festival of Lights. Edarra found she could not care less. 

Back in the hallway leading to their room, Furen and Teryl were nowhere to be seen. Seonid fumbled with the key, cursing under her breath while behind her Edarra sucked at a pulsepoint on her neck. When the lock tumbled free, they staggered inside. Edarra shut the door and found her back promptly pressed up against it. For someone who normally appeared so cold, Seonid was full of fire now. She was tugging at the laces of Edarra's dress, loosening layers of wool so she could slip her hand beneath. 

Edarra reached around and easily lifted Seonid into her arms. Seonid gave a little yelp of surprise, her eyes going wide when Edarra's hands shifted against her inner thighs to keep her aloft. A few steps across the wooden floor boards, and they were falling into bed. The feather mattress sank beneath their weight as Edarra perched herself atop Seonid, the two of them shifting so that she could kneel between Seonid’s legs, her long green skirt rucked up around her knees. 

Seonid was making little gasping sounds, her breaths hitched, as Edarra let her hand wander up her bare thighs. It would take too long -- they decided it without a single word being exchanged -- far too long to rid themselves of all these clothes. And so they didn’t. Not all at once. Pieces were pushed down, or crumpled up, or dragged aside to reveal glimpses of skin that they could reach with hands and mouths. 

Edarra was utterly transfixed by the flush that spread across Seonid’s face, by the way she bit at her lower lip to keep whimpers at bay, by the roll of her hips against Edarra’s fingers and the desperate keening noise she made when she came. 

“You,” Seonid panted, head still flung back against the pillows as Edarra’s fingers continued to build her up again, “are full of surprises.”

Edarra was grinding against Seonid’s thigh. She admired the pale column of Seonid’s throat before leaning down to rake her teeth across it, earning her a low groan. Her hips jerked and she muffled the noise that escaped her by burying her face in Seonid’s shoulder, feeling Seonid come apart not long after until they were both spent and breathing raggedly. 

“Blood and ashes,” Seonid swore softly. “I needed that.”

Edarra gave a huff of breathless laughter and pushed herself into a crouch. “Again?” she asked.

“Oh, _definitely.”_

* * *

The second day of the Festival of Lights passed very unlike the first. Neither of them ventured far from the bed, and when they did they soon returned. Mostly they slept, and Edarra struggled to think of a time when she had slept more soundly. It should not have been possible. In a foreign city. With a foreign woman. During a foreign celebration. And yet it was the truth.

It felt like a stolen day, like something she would keep in her pocket for years to come, to turn over in her hand and admire in secret when the nights were long and cold and starless. It felt like the height of luxury, she thought to herself, as Seonid kissed a path down her stomach, Edarra's fingers in her hair.

All too soon it was over. And all too soon, they were making their way towards the Royal Library as though nothing had changed. Seonid walked with a belying grace; Edarra looked at her and could not help but think of how a scant few hours ago Seonid was panting beneath her, fingernails scraping down her back. Furen and Teryl trailed close behind. They had exchanged knowing looks when Edarra had emerged from the room for food at once point, her hair a mess and her body wrapped in nothing but a haphazard cloak. She tried not to think too hard about how deeply the bond ran between an Aes Sedai and her Warders. She did not really want to know the answer to that question.

It felt surreal, striding past the guards at the entrance to the Royal Library without being stopped once. On her first visit, Edarra had been thoroughly searched. Now, the guards saluted Seonid as they walked by, their fingertips resting against the edges of their helms. She kept expecting something to go wrong. Every corner they turned, every person they passed. Surely, it could not be this easy. Surely, someone would finally notice who and what she really was. 

Even when they had scoured the stacks and found after hours of searching what she was looking for -- just a small battered book tucked away in a far corner, nothing grand or world-shaking -- Edarra turned, half expecting Seonid to snatch it from her hands. She would not have been shocked to find that Furen and Teryl had drawn their heron-marked blades, or to find Seonid wielding The Source with far more deadly precision. 

Instead, Seonid just looked at her, hands clasped calmly, her head held at an inquisitive tilt. “Do you need to be escorted through the city gates?” she asked.

Edarra shook her head, tucking the book away into a leather pack that she slung over one shoulder. “No. I will be out of the city in an hour.” 

Without a word, Seonid cast a glance over her shoulder. Furen and Teryl got whatever silent message that passed between them, and they strode over to guard the exits. Once they had gone, Seonid took a step closer. “I don’t suppose your travels will see you in Andor anytime soon?”

“I go where the clan needs me.” 

“Yes,” Seonid sighed with a nod. “I was afraid you’d say that. You Aiel and your bloody duty. Always the same.” 

Even two days ago, this would have made Edarra’s hackles rise. Now, it merely made her chuckle. “May you always find water and shade, Seonid Traighan,” she said. “And please -- avoid any more assassination attempts. You deserve to die fighting.”

The corner of Seonid’s mouth curled in a warm smile that Edarra wanted to kiss away. “I make no promises, but I will do my best.”

“I understand. Avoiding family is always difficult.”

One of Seonid’s eyebrows hoisted up like a wind sail. “What makes you say that?”

“Because your brother is the one trying to kill you.”

The importer spy from House Traighan. The porcelain brought into Cairhien from Ebou Dar, which had held the poisoned fruit served with tea. A family kept at such a distance they did not know their own sibling’s preferences beyond what might affect their social standing. And an inheritance which Seonid stood in the way of by being the eldest child in a land where such things were a matter of life or death. 

Seonid’s smile broadened, revealing a glimpse of even teeth. “My, my,” she murmured and reached up to adjust the line of Edarra’s cloak across her shoulders as an excuse to touch her. “An Aiel who sees the pattern of The Game? What is the world coming to?”

Gently Edarra took Seonid’s hand and lifted it to her mouth for a kiss. “The end.”

Something flickered across Seonid’s face, tempering her smile into something softer, almost tender. “And what a blessing it was,” Seonid said. “To have spent it with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1) The title is taken from Timon of Athens
> 
> 2) Don’t look too hard at the timeline of this vs canon because it won’t stand up to scrutiny lol
> 
> 3) If you haven’t read the Wheel of Time series before and you’re just here because you like my writing or something, for the love of God do NOT read the series. It’s bad. 


End file.
